I’ve heard Gaza called a “graveyard for children.” They say 7,870 children are dead. 7,870. Some say the number’s inflated. But even if we cut it in half, God, then we’re saying only 3,935 children lie in that cold earth. What relief is that? And the children mark only the beginning of all the death.
And God, in Israel, whole families and kibbutzes are obliterated, shattered. Families of 1,210 murdered daughters, fathers, babies, and friends engulfed in the shroud of grief. And so many hostages trapped in terror’s grip. Will they ever come home? What home will they have if they return?
God, when I ask you to advent, to arrive…when I join the prophets and the ancients and ask you to pierce the night with a blinding, potent love, to crush every evil and to somehow remake our horrors into something we can call good — I’m praying about exactly these nightmares.
And I’m praying about all the evil that has touched me. And all the evil that I’ve done. I’m praying about all the evils that we have done to one another, and all the evils that we keep doing.
God, give us a vision for the shalom you promise is coming. But God, would you hurry up and bring it? Truth is, the waiting’s impossible to understand. And since I can already hear you asking me what exactly I’m doing to live your shalom, I’ll also pray for you to start with me. There’s a lot to be undone in me, a lot to be healed. I suspect the healing will hurt, but I need it.
We need the healing, God. Forgive us. And so, I’ll ask once more: Please, Advent. We’re killing, and we’re dying.